Bitter Parting
by GreyLadyBast
Summary: Arwen says farewell to her family. Tolkien hinted at this scene, but did not write it. So I have. Complete! Brethren and Father done, so what more is left to say, who is left to tell goodbye? Read and find out.
1. Brethren

Obligatory Disclaimer----yes, yes, I know and you know and everyone knows who owns what. None of the characters are mine, as this is simply a fill- in scene Tolkien hinted at but did not write. The inspiration for this story is quoted and attributed properly.  
  
A/N----I know squat about Elvish. I've got memorized maybe three things, including the "star shines" line everyone knows. Thus, I will not dishonor the language by attempting to write in it. No "ada" for "daddy", no other Sindarin pet names. Simply assume Arwen, the twins and Elrond are speaking their native language. If anyone is interested in translating the dialog to Elvish, feel free. Just email me the results, as I am in awe of anyone who actually speaks, reads and writes properly in the language.  
  
Bitter Parting  
  
"....and Arwen Evenstar remained also, and she said farewell to her brethren. None saw her last meeting with Elrond her father, for they went up into the hills and spoke long together, and bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends of the world." ----Return of the King, pg 955-56  
  
Elrohir and Elladan are in good spirits. Some would find this surprising, given the circumstances, but I know my brothers well. Their hearts hold infinite acceptance, even for choices they do not approve. I know they would not be parted from me in this manner, had they their way. But they also know my love for Estel is true. As they would not be parted from each other, so I will not be parted from my love. And so brothers and sister must be sundered for all time. It is a melancholy parting, but not a bitter one. The twins know I am happy, thus, they are happy for me.  
  
Elrohir grins impishly at me. I suspect he has a tickle in mind. Sure enough, my brother abruptly grabs me around the waist and tickles mercilessly. I laugh and bat feebly at his hands, not truly wanting him to stop. Elrohir has tickled me since I was tiny. He adores it, more so because he knows how much I loathe it. This time, however, knowing that it is the last time, I do not want him to stop. But he does. He does not let me go, though. Rather, he pulls me into a rough hug.  
  
"So, Little Glimmer, this is goodbye," Elrohir murmurs into my hair. Though I bore the name Undomiel from birth, as a child my brothers did not think I was big enough for such a grand nomenclature. The nickname brings tears to my eyes. I pull away from Elrohir before I lose my composure altogether.  
  
Elladan stands stiffly next to him, stoic as always. How very like Estel he is! Though I should properly say Estel is like Elladan, for I know my love patterned his stern demeanor on that of my brother. I was not there when Aragorn was a child, a fact I never know whether to regret or rejoice, but I have heard many stories. Elrohir delights in making both his brothers blush with tales of imitation and irritation. Oh, I will miss those!  
  
I will have none of Elladan's stern elf-lord routine. I launch myself at him, grabbing him in as rough a hug as Elrohir gave me. I care not for dignity, or appearances. I want to hold my elder brother one last time.  
  
Elladan wraps his arms around me. I can feel him trembling with suppressed emotion. He has never been one to voice his feelings, or show them in any way if he can avoid it, but I have always been able to tell what he hiding. Now, he is hiding a terrible grief, and I am the cause. Elladan's silence, even more then Elrohir's endearment, breaks through my fragile self-control. I weep.  
  
"Shh, Arwen, please, do not cry," Elladan whispers into my hair. Elrohir strokes my back, adding his comfort to his twin's.  
  
How can I leave them? These are my brothers, blood of my blood. I have loved them longer than Rohan has existed as a country. Never in all those long years did I expect to be parted from them this way. Now I will never see them again. Never endure Elrohir's pranks. Never tease Elladan for his stoicism. Never know their support when I have done something to displease Father. Never share memories of Mother. They have given me so much, and in return, I abandon them. Even for my beloved Estel, I cannot do this. But it is too late to change my mind. So I weep for what I have done.  
  
My brothers let me cry for a few minutes. Then Elladan holds me at arms length. Elrohir stands shoulder-to-shoulder with him, and I am struck by how alike they look. They regard me with identical expressions. I do not tell the twins that I regret, but they know my mood anyway. I sniffle as the silence lengthens.  
  
Finally, Elladan speaks. "You have made the right choice, Little Glimmer," he reassures me. "You and Estel are meant for each other. All can see it, even at a single glance. You glowed with happiness at your wedding, Sister."  
  
"We know you will miss us, even as we will miss you," Elrohir continues when Elladan falls silent. "But think on this, and tell me truly: Would you not wither and die without Estel, even in the Undying Lands?"  
  
I have no answer for that. I know he speaks the truth. Elrohir has always been adept at getting to the heart of my hurts. Now, as ever, he says exactly what I need to hear to heal. I nod, and force a smile. "But I will miss you so!"  
  
"We know, Arwen. We know. But you will be happier this way. And I know you will not forget us," Elrohir replies. Elladan nods his agreement.  
  
"No one could forget you!" I cry, pulling them both into another hug. "Be well, my brothers. Take care of yourselves, and our parents."  
  
"And you, Little Glimmer, take care of Estel. You know he is useless without an elf around to help him," Elrohir teases.  
  
"Since we must leave, you will have to bear this burden alone, Arwen. I wish you luck. You will need it," Elladan adds, his rare humor shining through.  
  
"That I will, my brother! You have no idea what a handful that man is!" I laugh. The melancholy mood is broken. My brothers and I will part on a happy note.  
  
I kiss them both farewell. They smile, and kiss me back. "I love you both, and always will."  
  
"As we love you, and always will. Be well, Arwen, and never regret your choice. You have made the right one," Elrohir speaks for both twins. Elladan ruffles my hair, then my dear brothers take their leave. I sigh. I will miss them. 


	2. Father

A/N----heartfelt (and belated) thanks to Acacia for beta-ing the first part of the first chapter of this work. Unfortunately, I haven't been on when she is, to let her beta the rest, but I wanted to say thanks anyway. Thanks also to my reviewers. You guys mean the world to me. Oh, and PuterPatty, I'm working on it, I'm working on it! Mithsewwen is being a pain in my arse, hiding from me. I wish she'd come out so I can write more of her story. In the meantime, enjoy this one.  
  
Bitter Parting  
  
Now that I have said farewell to my brothers, I must do the same with my father. I am not sure I am up to this challenge. I doubt that the guilt and loss I feel will be lightened with laughter and teasing, as it was with the twins. This parting will be nothing but bitter, I am certain. Still, I cannot simply let my father go without a word. As painful as it is, I must speak to him.  
  
He is not in Edoras itself, which is as I expected. A city of Man is not the proper place for what we must say to each other. Imladris would be more appropriate, if we must be in a city, but we are not there. And I will never be there again.  
  
With these melancholy thoughts for company, I make my way into the hills above the city. I do not need to think about where he is, since he is not in the city. There is no place else my father would go.  
  
He has climbed the highest hill near Edoras. How very like Father, to seek out height if he cannot have forest. He stands with his back to the path, the wind ruffling his hair. His posture bespeaks sorrow. Oh, I cannot do this. I cannot, but I must.  
  
"Edoras is beautiful this time of year, is it not?" I ask in greeting. Cowardly, Arwen, to begin with trivialities. There is too much to say to waste time like this, but I cannot find my tongue for more.  
  
"Indeed," Elrond responds curtly. Is he angry with me still? Or simply holding his hurt in, disguising it with short temper? I cannot tell.  
  
"The view from here is stunning," I say. I remain at a loss for words, but I cannot stand the silence. Thus, I babble meaningless drivel. I disgust myself.  
  
Father merely grunts. He has not turned, has not moved to embrace me, has barely responded at all. I stand behind him for several minutes, willing him to turn or speak, yell, berate me, even strike me, anything at all, but he does not. He simply stands there, his back to me, silent.  
  
I can feel my heart shatter as he ignores me. I wait for a few more moments for some sort of response, then I turn to leave. Tears stream unheeded down my cheeks. I did not expect such a thorough rejection.  
  
I get four steps away before he calls my name. I turn back towards him.  
  
"Father?" I respond, hoping against hope.  
  
"Don't go. Not yet," he says, turning at last. His cheeks are as tearstained as mine. The last time I saw the Lord of Imladris weep, my mother was boarding her White Ship. I push that thought away as I run into his arms. I cling to my father and sob into his robe. I can feel his own tears drip onto my hair.  
  
"I did not wish to hurt you, my father," I mumble.  
  
"I know, my Undomiel. I know," he replies, stroking my hair. Our tears prove to be the catharsis needed; the wall between us is broken. We sit on the soft grass of the hill, and talk. We speak of many things. Mostly, we reminisce, for Father loves to tell stories of my childhood as much as I love to hear them. Occasionally the conversation turns to politics. I wonder if Father is not determined teach me everything there is to know about the governing of a people in these last hours, as if I have not trained for this all my life. Were this not our last talk, I would grow irritated. Now, I soak up everything he has to give as parched land soaks up rain. I cannot get enough, for I know I will never again hear Elrond's wisdom.  
  
We talk long into the afternoon. As the sun sets, I sidle up to my father, cuddling as I have not done in a very long time. Father wraps his arm around my shoulder to hold me close, as unconcerned with propriety as I. No one can see us, after all, and we will not have this chance again.  
  
We fall silent, content to enjoy each other's company and watch the sun set. It is uncommonly beautiful this evening. Every color known lights the sky, almost as if the sunset would console us with its beauty. It even works, for a short time. But then the evening star appears, and a sense of melancholy returns.  
  
"You were born at this time of day, Arwen," Father comments. "Because of that, I wanted to name you after the twilight. But your mother would have none of it. She said you were a noble lady, and that would be your name. As you know, I could deny Celebrian nothing, so Arwen you became."  
  
"But you did not think that fit exactly, did you, Father?" I ask, picking up my cue. I have heard this story countless times.  
  
He smiles down at me. "No, I did not. But your mother truly loathed the idea of naming you after the time of day you were born, so it seemed I would simply have to live with her choice of name. Then, the midwife gave you to me to hold for the first time. You smiled at me, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in all my long years. The first star of the evening appeared at that moment, and shone down upon your smile. I knew then you were the Evenstar of our people, and should bear that name as well as the one your mother chose. 'Twas a sign. Even Celebrian saw it, and agreed, though she would not give up her original choice. And that is how you came to bear two names, my Undomiel."  
  
Father hugs me close and kisses my forehead. I sigh, content for the moment. Then my father speaks again, and my contentment is shattered.  
  
"Do you truly love him, Daughter?" he asks.  
  
I pull away from his embrace, sit up and stare at him, appalled. "How can you ask that? After all we have been through, after all the time I have waited to have him, after what I have given up to be with him, you still question my love for him?"  
  
"I am sorry, Arwen. I ask only out of a father's need to be certain. I know the answer, that you love him beyond words, as he loves you. I did see you both when you wed, child. The love between you cannot be denied. It is pure and real, and plainly visible for all to see. Forgive me?" he practically begs me. Elrond, Lord of Imladris, Bearer of Vilya, who marched with Gil-Galad, begs my forgiveness.  
  
I smile and hug him. "Of course I forgive you, Father."  
  
He sighs. Apparently, he truly feared that I would hold onto my flash of anger. As if I could ever remain angry with him for long over anything. Still, I can feel him trembling in my embrace. There is little I can do to comfort him.  
  
I nestle back into his arms. We watch the rest of the stars come out in quiet companionship, as we did when I was small. Neither of us is eager to end this last interlude.  
  
"Arwen?" he asks after a time. He sounds hesitant.  
  
"Yes, Father?" I reply, choosing to overlook his uncertainty. Elrond of Imladris has never liked to have his flaws pointed out by his children. Normally, that does not stop us, but today, I leave him his dignity.  
  
"What will I tell your mother?"  
  
The question brings me up short. Never did I stop to think of this. Oh, I thought of my mother, but mostly my thoughts were of missing her, wishing I could talk with her of things only females know, desiring to tell her all about Estel, wanting her to be with me at my wedding. It never occurred to me that someone would have to tell her of my choice and my doom. Of course, that someone would be Father.  
  
I take the time to give the question its full consideration. This seems to worry my father, to judge from his expression. The silence lengthens as I think. Father fidgets, which is a very rare thing. Finally, he can stand the quiet no longer.  
  
"Arwen?"  
  
"I am thinking, Father. This is not a question to answer lightly," I say. He frowns, but does not push me. What should he tell Mother? I am embarrassed that I did not prepare for this. Whatever message I send to my mother must convey my happiness, as well as letting her know that I made this choice of my own free will, aware of the consequences.  
  
Finally, I have the answer. In part, I can thank Elrohir, for his words inspired me. I turn my full attention to Father. He is more nervous than I have ever seen him. More nervous than he was even before his famed Council, and then I thought his head would explode from tension. Elrond does not show his nerves easily, but I know him well enough to recognize them when I see them.  
  
"Tell Mother that as she loved you, so I love Estel. Tell her that without him, I would wither and die, yes, even in the Undying Lands. Tell her that as you let her go, so she must let me go. And tell her that I love her still, and will never forget her." That is all I can think of to say. I hope it is enough.  
  
Now it is Father's turn to be silent, and my turn to fret. He considers my message, his brow furrowing in thought. Finally he nods. "That is what I shall tell her, then."  
  
Now it is full night, and there is nothing left to say. The moon rises, lighting the path back to Edoras. Father stands, brushing the grass from his robe. I follow his lead. He pulls me into a hug, holding me so tightly, it is difficult to breathe. I do not complain. I just listen to his heartbeat.  
  
At last, he speaks. Always the voice of wisdom, Father says, "Come, child. We must return. It is late, and you will be missed."  
  
"So will you, Father." I am not referring to the people of Middle Earth, though they also will miss Elrond, when he leaves.  
  
He pauses for a moment, before we go. Father takes my chin in his hand and tilts my face up to look at him. I smile sadly, feeling tears build.  
  
"Remember, my Undomiel, that no matter where your path takes you, I will forever love you. You are always in my heart, Daughter," he say softly.  
  
I am crying in earnest now. "As are you, my Father. Always, as are you."  
  
Father wipes away my tears, then pulls me into yet another hug. We tremble and cry for I do not know how long. All too quickly, however, it is time to leave. We hold hands as we make our way back to the city. There is nothing to say, so we do not speak. But the love and the loss hang palpably between us. We regret being parted, but we know there is no other path to walk. The moon sets, and all is shrouded in darkness. 


	3. Mother

A/N---I have absolutely no clue if elves can speak to each other in dreams at all, let alone all the way from the Uttermost West. Honestly, I don't care. If you believe they can, then it's a real communication. If you believe they cannot, then it's a vivid dream. The story works either way.  
  
Bitter Parting  
  
Years pass, but a few, though they seem more. I settle easily into my new life, until it feels as though I have never lived another. The people of Gondor accept me as their Queen without reservation, so I do my best to be worthy of their devotion. I must also work hard to be a fit companion to Aragorn. He is a spectacular ruler. It takes all my training to match his innate skill. I do well enough, I think. I hope.  
  
Life is happy. That is, until I receive the letter. Then, all the melancholy I have worked so hard to put behind me comes flooding back. I rarely take advantage of my position as Queen, but this day I do. I excuse myself from my duties and retire to the chambers I share with Estel. There I sit before the fire and brood.  
  
I have not had much time to indulge my low spirits when my King comes in. I should have known he would notice my absence and look for me. Concern is plainly written on his face as he enters. He kneels before me and asks, "Are you well, my wife?"  
  
"As well as can be expected," I reply, trying to smile. I can see in his eyes that I fail.  
  
"What has happened?" he asks gently. My love is so in tune with my moods, there is no hiding from him. I do not even try.  
  
"I received a letter from young Samwise. The Ringbearers have sailed West. They will have reached Tol Eressea by now," I tell him. I cannot prevent tears from filling my eyes, though I do manage to keep them from falling.  
  
He takes my hand and strokes it, to comfort me. "Did all of them leave?" he asks.  
  
"All but Sam," I reply. I am not certain what else he would expect. I have long known both my father and my grandmother grow weary. The loss of the One Ring took much from their own rings, which in turn took much from their spirit. I knew they would soon leave, as would Mithrandir, who's task is finished, and Frodo, who's hurts I did not truly think would heal. I would not have given him my grace had I believed otherwise.  
  
"Did the twins go as well?" Estel inquires. I know he does not mean to hurt me, but he has. Still, I cannot refuse to answer his question. I can refuse my love nothing.  
  
"I do not know," I answer curtly.  
  
"Hmm," he mumbles. "I cannot picture Elladan and Elrohir as weary of Middle Earth already. They are very full of life."  
  
"Estel, I do not know!" I snap. I have not seen my brothers since I bade them farewell that day in Edoras. I know not if they avoid me, if they have sailed West, or if they are simply unaware of the passage of time, being busy mopping up orcs and other leftover evils in the world. I suspect the latter, but it does not really matter. We said our goodbyes already. More is not needed. More would merely hurt. Or so I insist to myself.  
  
My husband recoils from my sharp tone. He drops my hand and stands, hiding his hurt. "Shall I leave you alone, Arwen?" he asks softly.  
  
Instantly, I regret taking out my temper on my love. I stand, walk to him, take him in my arms and smile up at him. The smile is forced, but genuine. I am struck again by how good he feels in my arms. "Actually, if you can be spared from your duties, I would have your company today."  
  
"Then you shall have it, my Queen," he replies. He disentangles himself from my arms briefly, to give the message of his absence to a servant, then he returns to me. "What would you have us do, dear heart?"  
  
"Just keep me company, please. I feel very much alone right now," I say. He nods, and leads me to the small couch I had just vacated. We curl up together, and trade stories of the Ringbearers. He knows more of Frodo and Mithrandir than I, but I have more memories of Elrond and Galadriel than he has years, so we are even. We recall only good things, never the dark times. Soon, we are laughing.  
  
My heart is much lightened, but still I feel a vague emptiness. Estel notices the sorrow under my mirth. "Do you regret your choice, my love?" he asks, his voice tight with worry.  
  
"Regret? No, I do not regret for a second. I do miss what I have lost, though, and always will," I reply.  
  
He sighs. "I wish I could help you."  
  
A thought occurs to me. I grin mischievously up my beloved. "You can. You can remind me of what I have gained in return for what I have given up," I say, playfully running my fingers through his hair.  
  
His smile lights up his face. He whispers, "That I can do."  
  
I want badly to feel his kisses, to drink deeply of his life, and remember the love we share, rather than the family I have lost. I pull him towards me and kiss him deeply, feeling his soul merge with mine. He scoops me up, carries me into our bedchamber, and proceeds to thoroughly and passionately remind me of how much I now have.  
  
Much later, I lie cuddled up around him, sated. Aragorn sleeps deeply, for I have worn him out. I, however, find it hard to slow my thoughts enough for slumber. I close my eyes and try to relax, to rest my body if not my mind. I lay there for I do not know how long. Suddenly, I hear a soft voice, calling my name.  
  
"Arwen?"  
  
I glance over at my husband, but he sleeps the sleep of the well-loved. Even if he were awake, the voice could not be his. It is female.  
  
I look around, to see who would be so bold as to invade the sanctity of my bedchamber. To my everlasting surprise, standing at the foot of my bed, aglow in silver and white, is Celebrian.  
  
"Mother?" I ask, not believing what I see.  
  
"Yes, child. Your father told me of your choice, and gave me your message. I have come to see for myself that you are happy, and determine what sort of man has won your heart," she tells me.  
  
I am nothing short of astonished. To see my mother again, after all these years, after I had given up all hope of it! I move to go to her and embrace her, but she stops me with a gesture.  
  
"Do not move, Little One. This cannot last long, and will shatter if we touch," she says, stern and sad, just as I remember her.  
  
"But Mother..." I plead.  
  
"But nothing, child," she interrupts. "Time is short, and you have much to tell me. Is that your Man?" she asks, nodding towards Estel, who snores at my side.  
  
I smile down at him, proud and joyful. "Yes. Is he not beautiful?"  
  
Mother does not answer me right away. Instead, she stares at my husband, taking his measure even as he sleeps. At last she says, "Indeed, he is at that. His kindness and nobility shine through even in sleep. I think I see why you chose him. Still, I would have liked to see you again, my daughter."  
  
"Mother, I..." I begin to defend my decision, to tell her that my devotion to Estel left no other choice. Again, she interrupts.  
  
"There is no need to explain, Arwen. The message you sent with your father was explanation enough." She sighs, and smiles. "And if it was not, to see how you glow with love for him now is all the confirmation I would ever need. Be happy, daughter. That is all I ever wanted for you, to be happy. If this man makes you so, then with him is where you should be. Take care of him, and the child you have created with him."  
  
"Child?" I squeak, astonished beyond describing. I had no indication I am with child. Perhaps tonight? No, not possible. I am Eldar, I would know. Wouldn't I?  
  
When I tell Mother this, she smiles knowingly at me, but says nothing. Silently, she glides up from the foot of the bed to stand beside me. She leans down and whispers to me. "It is good to see you again, my child, happy and well, but I must go now. Be content in your chosen path, my Arwen. And know that I love you."  
  
"I love you too, Mama," I answer, using the endearment I have not needed for millennia. She smiles, brushes her lips against my forehead, and is gone.  
  
The next morning, I am in high spirits, singing and smiling. Estel notices, and comments on it.  
  
"Of course I am in a good mood, my love. I have cause to be. You, sir, are going to be a father," I inform him gaily.  
  
I have the rare pleasure of striking Aragorn speechless. Oh, he has been know to be taciturn enough, but at a loss for words? Not my Estel. This morning, however, he can only stare dumbly at me.  
  
"Close your mouth, dearest. You look like a deer caught in torchlight," I instruct him.  
  
My husband's brain finally catches up to my announcement. A huge smile breaks across his face, and he sweeps me into his arms, spinning me around before setting me on my feet again. "I am to be a father!" he cries in joy. "When did this happen?"  
  
"Last night. I had a vision, or perhaps a dream. Congratulations, my love," I laugh. He silences my laughter with a thorough kiss.  
  
"I love you, Arwen Evenstar. You do know that, don't you?" he grins.  
  
"Of course I do. And believe it or not, I love you too, Estel, Aragorn, Elessar Telcontar, once called Strider, who has far too many names for one man. And now you can add Father to your list," I tease.  
  
"And you can add Mother, my lady. You, a mother. What is the world coming to?" he throws the teasing back at me.  
  
I punch him playfully on the shoulder. He pretends to fall, staggering back onto the bed. "Enough of this foolishness. We were idle enough in melancholy yesterday. Today, we must work. The running of the kingdom will not wait forever," I scold.  
  
"Yes, of course. And we have an announcement to make!" He is pure joy personified.  
  
I should not dampen his enthusiasm, but I would hold this to ourselves a bit longer. "My love, let us wait on announcements until we are certain."  
  
"I thought you were certain?" His disappointment is almost comical.  
  
"I am, but your advisors will not believe it. They have little faith in the skills of the Eldar. So, we should wait awhile longer. Besides, I would cherish this between us for a bit. Please?" I bat my eyelashes outrageously at my love.  
  
He signs, smiles, and lets me have my way, as I knew he would. He pulls me in his arms for another kiss. "What should we call the babe?"  
  
"Aragorn! I am barely pregnant and already you wish to debate names? We do not even know what it will be!" I protest.  
  
"It's just....I was thinking," he begins.  
  
"That is dangerous, love," I interrupt.  
  
"Hush, you. Let me finish. I was thinking, if the babe is a boy, we should name him after Elrond somehow. Not 'Elrond', exactly, but something that calls that to mind. What think you, dear heart?" he asks anxiously.  
  
I take a deep breath. What better way to celebrate new life, and hold onto the love now lost to me? "I think that is altogether fitting. Suddenly I remember why I love you. Now, come. We must break our fast, and make our appearances in Court."  
  
Aragorn's smile widens, a thing I did not think possible. He kisses me yet again. "I would rather stay here, Arwen, but you are correct as always. Tonight, though. Tonight, we celebrate, just you and I. And the baby," he says, his hand on my belly.  
  
I nod in complete agreement. But we have procrastinated enough. It is time to begin our day. I follow my husband out of our chambers, and head back into my life. It is good.  
  
  
  
A/N II---I couldn't find out when Eldarion was born. The only info I did find was that Arwen lived happily with Aragorn for sixty years, and that Eldarion was "a man full-ripe for kingship" when he died. Given the longevity of the Dunedain, I don't find it unbelievable that Eldarion would be in his late fifties and still considered to have years of kingcraft left in him.  
  
I hope I pulled a fast one on you with this last chapter, and that you have enjoyed it. If I did and you did, click on the little button and feed my review monster. She's underfed in this story. Thanks. 


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